Page 62 of Hunted By Valentine

Eve tilts her head slightly, observing me with that same analytical gaze. “Do you think you’re in love with her?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Love is a weakness, Eve. I don’t do weakness.”

“No,” she agrees, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t. But feelings are unpredictable. They don’t follow your rules, Valentine. They’re messy, chaotic. And whether you like it or not, you’re in the middle of it now. With Ruby.”

I stare at her, the truth sinking in, gnawing at me like an open wound. Eve watches me closely, waiting for the realization to hit—waiting for me to admit to myself what I’ve been trying to deny.

Ruby isn’t just a job. She isn’t just another kill on my list. She’s something else entirely. Something I can’t ignore. And that realization is far more dangerous than any target I’ve ever faced.

Yet, even knowing all of that, I’m not ready to give up on my game. Change it, perhaps. But not let it go entirely.

Chapter 24

The Prey

Iwake up to the soft rustling of sheets and the faint scent of linen, the familiar weight of the firm mattress underneath me is pressing against my aching body. The pain pulls me out of the darkness, making me groan before I even open my eyes.

My ribs feel like they’ve been crushed, and my head pounds, the dull throb spreading through my skull, making every thought feel like it’s swimming through quicksand.

The room is completely dark, so it takes me a moment to remember where I am; Jack’s place. Safe. For now. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my ribs, making me wince. I grit my teeth and swing my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to move too fast.

Every part of me feels bruised, broken, like a fragile thing barely holding together. My hands instinctively go to my hair, where the stitches tug uncomfortably at the back of my scalp. The memory of Michael slamming me into the floor rushes back, and I suck in a breath, forcing it down before I lose myself to it.

I need to clean up. I need to get this blood off me, this… feeling off me.

“Jack?” My voice comes out hoarse, weak. I try again, louder. “Jack?”

A moment later, he’s at the door, his face drawn tight with concern, his eyes bloodshot as though he hasn’t slept. He stands there for a second, just looking at me, like he doesn’t know what to say. I’m not sure I do either.

“How long?” I croak.

His eyes soften. “It’s been almost two days, Rubes.”

Two days… but two days, what? Since the attack or since Nick was here? The questions swirl in my mind, and I don’t know why I’m not asking out loud. Well, it’s not as though it matters either way.

“I need a bath,” I whisper. My voice cracks, and the sound feels foreign, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. “Please… I just need a bath.”

He nods without a word and crosses the room. I hear the soft click of the bathroom light turning on, and the sound of water running fills the silence. It’s oddly comforting, like something normal in a sea of chaos.

When he comes back, his voice is gentle. “The tub’s ready. Can you stand?”

I nod, though I’m not sure I can. I try anyway, pushing myself off the bed, but my legs buckle beneath me. Jack catches me before I hit the floor, his hands firm but gentle under my arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, leading me slowly into the bathroom. He helps me sit on the edge of the tub, my body sinking against the cool tile, the steam from the water swirling around us.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Jack hesitates, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lie, forcing a weak smile.

He nods, his jaw tight. “I’ll get us some breakfast for when you get out,” he says before he leaves and closes the door behind him.

Okay, so I guess it’s morning. Instead of feeling some semblance of… I don’t know, but it should make me feel some kind of way to know the time, right? And I guess it does; frustrated. I’m frustrated at knowing I should be getting ready for class when I know I can’t go.

I take a deep breath and push myself to stand, fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt. The pain makes me wince, but I grit my teeth and pull it over my head. I’ve had worse. The fabric clings to my skin, damp with sweat and blood. I let it fall to the floor before I step toward the mirror.

The reflection staring back at me is almost unrecognizable.

My face is swollen, my jaw a mess of purples and blues. One eye is half-shut, the skin around it tender and bruised. A split in my lower lip is dried with blood, and my hair—God, my hair.

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